"Ah, perfide!" exclaimed Amalie, overwhelming her favourite with caresses—upon principle—for affection is the sign of a good heart, and simplicity was not only so engaging, but in such exact keeping with her costume! "But I am quite ungrateful with delight," turning to the young stranger, who was gazing upon her with evident admiration; and raising, but for a moment only, her eyes to his face, "I really know not how to thank you enough."
"Ah, madame," exclaimed the youth, "I am but too fortunate," and he stopped, embarrassed, but reluctant to depart:—the countess had no intention that he should.
"How could you," continued she, glancing, with a slight shudder, at the old chestnut tree, from which he had just descended, "trust your life amid these decaying branches? Ah, even my attachment to ce pauvre chéri is a selfish pleasure;" and, lost in the terror her fancy had conjured up, and the philosophic reflexion it had inspired, Amalie seated herself on a projecting root, whose moss was beautiful enough to have been an artificial covering. The stranger stood at a little distance, and even Amalie felt something very like confusion at his earnest and prolonged gaze; for hommage she was always prepared, but sincerity took her a little by surprise—however, the novelty made the affair more piquante. "Monsieur does not belong to these parts?" Now there was insinuated flattery in this negative method of putting the question; it was as much as to say, it was impossible they could have produced him.
"I am a native of the adjacent valley."
"Strangers alike upon our native soil, I suppose?" said Amalie.
"I have passed the greater portion of my life here."
"Indeed!" exclaimed she, "but I can see that you have travelled."
"I spent two years in England."
"As every thing English is the rage just now, I dare say you recognize my dress."
The young stranger was forced to confess that he did not, and he avowed that he had attended but little to the affairs of the toilette during his absence; but his manner implied that he had now seen one that he should not readily forget. Well, to cut the conversation much shorter than the countess did, they parted, with a light hint just dropped by Amalie, that she now passed the greater portion of her time in solitude, and that the old chestnut was her favourite haunt. The next day she was there, and the young stranger passed quite accidentally; however, she had to show him how much more securely the paroquet was fastened to-day; one word led to another, and the conversation was long and interesting. Amalie
